Wordsmith

A monologue, the free writing poetical ramblings of a writer struggling with their relationship with their words, the tools of their survival. An excerpt from a contemporary play 'Wordsmith' (the writer is androgynous).

Writer:

Words, words, words;

Escaping the definition of interpretation of the everyday, the mundane and the monotonous,Trying to break the multi-syllabic montage of the necessity to understand Without words, actions would have little meaning,So how can actions speak louder than words?

Words, words, words;Semantic scribbling a with semantic hypnosis.A desire.A drive.A need to know and to interpret,And a loathing in anticipation of our failure to success.The loathing is only so because it's labelled this way,The action which is t one loathed is only so because we are to fulfil this anthropomorphic scripture,Which — once spoken — becomes a feeling or the need to feel.If the written word is so powerful and the actions it defines, destroys and disembowelled, so terrible,Then the spoken work seeks only to justify, to establish a balance and to nullify the impact.

Words, words, words;I hold a fear, an aversion so strong.To capture a feeling, a moment, an action in words,Written or spoken, what is to become of this?Once our imagination becomes scripted it sets in stone,It is real. It becomes an action, and thought turned to action becomes reality.You can not give life, meaning or consequence and remain a fantasy.

"Fantasy"

Once described the power of the fear has gone. Is gone. The anxiety of what's to follow, is strong. It is real enough.The consequence of these words means the power is gone from the fear,The consequence of these words give power to the fantasyThe fantasy of 'real' What is real?It is words.

Words create, destroy, they are consequence and action in a single dimension Words are your dimension, they impose, yet they're free.Words, are gossamer threads to our deepest desires for survival and understanding

Words, words, words.Make me.

They are my pain, my hope, my future and my past. Words are now and never.I fear them and their necessity,But above all; despite my intoxicated fears,I love their ambiguity, their fluidity and their structureI love their certainty, their homeliness and above all their hope